By Carolynn J. Scully
Member-at-large
The ancients winked and
smiled at the mystery
and magic of the wee
island of green, a crock
of shamrocks hiding
Leprechaun gold for
hunters to find at
the end of rainbow
rivers. Finders dance jigs
in party with friends
unaware of the owner
nearby, smoking a pipe,
stroking an orange beard,
wearing a buckled hat and
velveteen knickers.
Carved stone crosses dot
the land to rule the myths.
Old manuscripts
illuminate truth, and
the three-leafed clover
is lifted up by a holy man
to teach about the Lord
who is the maker
of the dance. The people
of the green isle play and
kneel with fervor.
What a delightful poem that also captures the fervent faith of the Irish.
I still have relatives living in Ireland and have visited a number of times.
I’ve visited Ireland a couple of times. What a beautiful and creative nod to a green, welcoming country. Love this poem.
You make me want to return to Ireland to enjoy the history and beauty and magic again. Your poem incorporates a lot of Irish lore and fact……illuminating truth. Ah, would that and gold be easy to attain, but yet, the magic of the isle and its story captivate. I loved my (limited) vacation time there. It is a nice way to recall those times, thank you!
I loved the comments on Irish lifestyle. Is there a guide of framework to label this style of poetry?
Which state is your residence? Congrats on your achievements here.
VERY VERY ENJOYABLE AND WELL COMPOSED.
I SENT MY 3 YR OLD DAUGHTER OUT TO FIND A FOUR LEAF CLOVER
IN MY MOM’S GARDEN. I WAS THINKING SHE’D BE BUSY FOR
QUITE AWHILE. IN ABOUT 5 MINUTES SHE CAME IN WITH ONE.
A GREAT MEMORY
AND THIS IS A GREAT POEM.